


What is usual?

by selenachevalier



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Nonsexual Ageplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 16:52:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selenachevalier/pseuds/selenachevalier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock struggles with being different and struggles with the emotions that come with it. Sometimes even emotions get the best of logic.</p><p>“Some people are meant to be with other people” Sherlock continues.</p><p>“And some, like me are just” Sherlock pauses, the right word hanging at the edge, like raindrops waiting for the inevitable fall. “Different.” Sherlock finally finishes as he looks back at John with that angry expression etched upon his chiseled features. Masked behind the manic gleam of his grey eyes is the hurting man that Sherlock Holmes truly is. John takes another step towards Sherlock, slowly reaching out with his right hand dangling a few inches from the consulting detective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What is usual?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whispered](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whispered/gifts).



> This work is a continuation of [**When Things Become Too Much**. ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/772261) It somewhere further along the time line where they've come more into their roles. It's not necessarily a sequel but that work does set the context for this one.
> 
> This is for you. It's meaning need not be explained. Thank you once again, for everything.

John Watson and Sherlock Holmes’s relationship isn’t something you would classify as normal. Normal is where it conforms to a standard, and is usual, typical and expected. But nothing resembling this definition of normal comes to mind when it involves the consulting detective and the former army doctor. A day they would call as typical would consist running around London, solving a case that has baffled Scotland Yard’s best. What would be said as expected is the resolution of the case through Sherlock’s brilliance (John’s words) and John’s unorthodox but much appreciated efforts (Sherlock’s words this time, to which John simply raises his eyebrows). And what both of them had come to consider as standard is the state that there were in now: being by each other’s side as they ascend the steps of 221B Baker Street.

Unusual has become their usual, in more ways than one.

Sherlock enters the flat first, John immediately follows shivering slightly from the cool London air. Sherlock tugs at his scarf absently, taking a bit more time to untangle it than usual. John hangs his jacket right beside Sherlock’s coat. Looking around the flat one would see that things often functioned this way. John's chair facing Sherlock's. Sherlock’s teacup right beside John’s, Sherlock’s toothbrush leaning gently against John’s. Yet there are less obvious things too, that only Sherlock and John are privy to. In Sherlock's room there is a cabinet that remained locked even to John Watson, up until recently that is. John opens the cabinet and smiles at the sight that greets him. 

There he finds a collection of nappies, baby blanket, bottles and pacifiers. Somehow, somewhere along the road John falls naturally into his role as a daddy. He is far from perfect, of course, but he tries. This is all new to him, as is the entirety of his relationship with Sherlock Holmes. For there definitely is something that both of them share. John feels it as Sherlock presses against his chest at night. He also sees it in Sherlock’s eyes when the younger looks up at him as he is wrapped in nothing but a nappy, blankie and John’s embrace to keep him warm. Feeling the soft cotton of the baby blanket underneath his fingers gives John a sense of comfort and calmness he hasn’t felt since before his days in Afghanistan. John grabs a fresh nappy and a bottle before he heads to the kitchen. With well practiced motions, John prepares warm milk for Sherlock to drink. It has been a long week for the both of them, and he knew Sherlock deserved a break after all of it. John looks over to Sherlock, who at that very moment was gazing outside the windows of 221B Baker Street. 

“Sherlock.” John calls softly, a small smile on his face. In one hand he holds the bottle which is now filled with warm milk. In the other he holds a diaper, ready to change Sherlock once he has settled down. 

Sherlock doesn’t turn to John, or acknowledge that he heard him. John tries again. 

“Sherlock.” John calls again, a bit louder this time. The smile still on his face. 

Sherlock doesn’t respond, but John continues. “I thought, after solving the case and everything, we might have some little time? We’ve frozen our arses running around London and all. I thought you deserved some play time. Daddy has missed his little boy.”  
Still Sherlock doesn’t respond. The smile on John’s face is replaced by a slight frown. 

“Sherlock?” John steps forward, calling to Sherlock with concern lacing his voice. Suddenly, Sherlock turns abruptly at John, swiping the bottle and diaper from John’s hands. He looks at them with a pained expression on his face, before throwing them across the room. The milk spills on the wooden floor, but John doesn’t pay attention to it. His eyes are fixed on Sherlock, and Sherlock alone.

“I don’t want any of that, John! I want nothing to do with it!” Sherlock shouts, his teeth gritted and brows furrowed in frustration.

The essence of their relationship was beyond comprehension, for even the great Sherlock Holmes himself couldn’t put into words the layers and intricacies that made it all up. There is simply him and John. Yet, even this fact can’t keep the noises in his mind at bay. As a mighty mountain could not forever deter the ocean that slowly beats against it, neither could Sherlock Holmes forever ignore his inner demons. Despite his brilliant mind, Sherlock Holmes is still human, a fact that some people could easily forget when facing the consulting detective. And contrary to popular belief, the great consulting detective has a heart that beats as strongly if not more than anyone else’s. John Watson sees all of this.

“Sherlock. What…?” Words fail him as John continues to look at Sherlock. 

“Why do I have to be like this?” 

At these words, an image flashes in John’s mind from earlier tonight: the image of Sherlock and Donovan a few paces from him and Lestrade. Donovan smirking as she whispers something in Sherlock’s ear. There is an unreadable expression on Sherlock’s face. John blinks the images away, and focuses instead on the rather distraught consulting detective right in front of him. Through the months that John has come to know Sherlock, John knows there is more to these things than Sherlock leads on. 

“What did Donovan say to you, Sherlock?” John asks, his voice low and quiet, his gaze intently on Sherlock.

Sherlock simply shrugs and turns away, not giving the bottle and nappy a second glance. 

“It doesn’t matter, John.” 

“Sherlock.” John calls, as he takes a step closer towards the man. 

“Some people are meant to be with other people” Sherlock continues.

“And some, like me are just” Sherlock pauses, the right word hanging at the edge, like raindrops waiting for the inevitable fall. “Different.” Sherlock finally finishes as he looks back at John with that angry expression etched upon his chiseled features. Masked behind the manic gleam of his grey eyes is the hurting man that Sherlock Holmes truly is. John takes another step towards Sherlock, slowly reaching out with his right hand dangling a few inches from the consulting detective. 

“I’m not like other people, Sherlock.” John says. 

“I suppose not.” Sherlock replies. These are the only words that Sherlock says out loud, but the real meaning of John Watson to Sherlock Holmes can’t merely be defined by these three words. Yet at this moment, Sherlock allows it to be so, because there is only so much room in Sherlock’s heart. A heart he wasn’t even aware existed until recently. 

“And neither are you.” John says. 

Sherlock closes his eyes upon hearing these these words. A deep breath escapes his lips, as if the wind had been knocked out of him. Like an arrow piercing through his previously nonexistent heart. These were words of confirmation from John Watson himself. He was different after all. 

Sherlock turns towards the door but before he could take a step further, he feels John’s hands wrap around his torso. It’s a gentle caress that he couldn’t mistake for anyone else’s. He feels rather than sees himself being turned around. He opens his eyes and sees John’s face there, with blue eyes looking up at him. There is neither disdain nor hatred there. There is only love. 

“You’re not like other people Sherlock.” John continues, lifting his hand ever so slowly, the back of his hand touching Sherlock’s cheek slightly. Sherlock continues to stare until John has cupped his slender face with both of his hands. “You’re you.” John whispers, for these are words for Sherlock alone. “You’re you.” John repeats, his blue eyes locked with Sherlock’s gray ones. “And I love you, for you.” 

Sherlock lets John’s words wash over him, and reach the very essence of being. These words reverberate in a place deep inside him that he didn’t even know existed. It is a place for John Watson alone. Sherlock isn’t the sentimental type, and there was a time he dismissed emotions as unnecessary and purposeless. Yet when it comes to John Watson, Sherlock’s own logical way of thinking doesn’t quite apply. When it comes to the army doctor, things rarely make sense. It is because of John that he becomes sentimental. It is because of this short brown haired doctor that he becomes a man, and not a machine. Sherlock doesn’t say these things out loud, however. He does not say how he feels like his chest is about to burst with the flurry of emotions that have come over him. Instead, he leans against John and allows the other to wrap him in a tender embrace once again. 

“John.” Sherlock calls, allowing the one word to be laced with the emotion seemingly bursting forth from his aching heart. 

John cards his hands through Sherlock’s black curly locks and pulls the consulting detective closer. “I’m here, Sherlock. It’s okay. I’ll always be here.” 

“Even if I’m like this?” Sherlock asks. There is uncertainty there for even Sherlock Holmes has his fears. And the one thing he can’t bear to lose is standing right there beside him. 

“Because you’re like this.” John says. “All of this, everything, is what makes you, _you_. Sherlock. Can’t you see? Cases. Experiments. Take Out. Nappies. Bottles. You and Me. This is our world, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. I wouldn’t want you any other way, do you hear me?”

Sherlock Holmes rarely finds himself at a loss for words, yet this is one of those rare moments in which he simply nods and buries his face against John’s chest. He allows himself to feel the slow rise and fall of John’s chest, and stays there until their breathing becomes in sync and he has calmed down somewhat. The whole time, John stands there with him, waiting for Sherlock and never pushing. 

It is Sherlock who pulls away first, but he doesn’t pull away completely. He holds unto John’s jumper, with the cloth tucked securely between his fingers. 

“Would you like to go to bed now, Sherlock?” John asks. Sherlock nods at this. Together they head towards Sherlock’s bedroom, the whole way back he doesn’t let go of John’s jumper. Sherlock’s other hand found its way between his lips.

“Do you want your diaper tonight, Sherlock?” Sherlock shakes his head at this as he climbs into bed and continues to suck on his thumb. 

“Alright” John answers. “I’ll get your pajamas then?” 

But Sherlock doesn’t let go of John. Sherlock shakes his head again, while tugging at John’s jumper. “Stay.” Sherlock says, momentarily removing his thumb before putting it back in. 

John’s about to protest, and say that their clothes were dirty from running around London the whole day but he keeps these thoughts to himself as he feels Sherlock tugging at his jumper. Instead, John lays beside Sherlock, tucking the consulting detective and himself underneath the duvets. 

John places a soft kiss on Sherlock’s forehead before whispering goodnight. Sherlock whispers goodnight back and closes his eyes as he rests against John’s protective embrace. Sleep wouldn’t come as easily to John that night. He lay there, watching over Sherlock and thinking to himself how long Sherlock had been battling with his doubts and fears. Sure, John is allowed to see facets of Sherlock that no one else witnesses, but John knows there is still more that lies beyond what’s he’s allowed to see. Perhaps it will take a long time, before the consulting detective can voice out his emotions freely and openly but John doesn’t mind waiting. Both John and Sherlock have come a long way. John has gone past the point of denial, and a bloke falling in love with another bloke no longer struck him as odd. It is one of those things that came naturally. In the same way that things somehow just fell into place in their relationship. 

Sherlock’s snores soon fill the room, and John looks down at the black haired man once again. Somewhere along the way unusual has become their usual and John Watson fell in love with Sherlock Holmes. _I simply have to remind him why then_ John thinks as he brushes stray black locks from Sherlock’s slender face. _Each and everyday_.


End file.
